


The Murder of Richter Techroyd

by DannyN



Category: Doctor Who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 08:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16343183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyN/pseuds/DannyN
Summary: Susan and Romana, after their time with the Doctor, solve a murder mystery together.





	The Murder of Richter Techroyd

PREFACE  
‘DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT THE DOCTOR!’

 

Mine is not a story of travels with the Doctor. Dear me, no! My pen rebels against such an enterprise; it quits such an odious task before it is begun. For we have had enough of him! Mine is a tale of two Time Ladies – Susan and Romana – and how they solved MURDERS IN TIME AND SPACE!

 

CHAPTER ONE  
DISTORTION OF TIME

 

She dreamt that it was night on her home planet. The sky was burnt orange, and the leaves on the trees shimmered in the brightest silver. Susan Foreman remained asleep next to her human husband David Campbell. Yet somehow she could hear a familiar wheezing sound – Vwoorp Vwoorp! - and she was becoming aware of a figure standing at the end of their bed.

Yet she slept on. Betwixt wake and sleep, she dreamt now of her life on Earth, how good it all was – how exciting - helping rebuild a country from scratch. She’d never had any real identity of her own, gadding about time and space with grandfather. But now here she was, the British Minister of Planning! And she wasn’t even human, let alone British! A command economy - at Susan’s command! A bridge here, a town there, new homes and railway lines all over the place, each with that tiny smidgeon of Time Lord technology subtly applied to ease the post-Dalek reconstruction – jobs, jobs, jobs: busy, busy, busy! And dear David was busy too: Minister of Agriculture with his mutant cows and sonic greenhouses. Self-sufficiency for the island by 2170 was a real possibility once the cyborg smashed avocado trees got going.

‘Ahem!’ the young woman at the foot of the bed announced her presence. Susan awoke with a start to see a slim, aristocratically-pretty woman with long straight hair. 

‘I’m afraid They’ve sent for us. We have to go.’ said Romana.

‘You mean Them?’ exclaimed Susan, horrified.

‘Yes, Them.”

Susan glanced at the sleeping David.

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll not be missed. They can get you back for five minutes ago.’

Rising and swiftly donning stripy t-shirt, culottes and shoes, the petite brunette hurried into Romana’s TARDIS, which had camouflaged itself as a Victorian wardrobe. It wheezed into the time vortex under the Time Lords’ remote control.

‘The thing is, I haven’t been terribly careful,’ confessed Susan, pacing nervously around the console room. ‘I got involved.”

“Join the club!” retorted Romana. “I had to make a load of Heath Robinson TARDISES for some friends of mine who were in dire straits. I’ll be in the doghouse too.”

“Who are you, by the way?’

“Romanadvoratrelundar, but you can call me Romana. It all began when I started to travel with a man called the Doctor…”

“The Doctor? You mean grandfather! I can’t believe it!” Susan (who actually did believe it) beamed.

This great revelation led to delighted, protracted, excited conversation about their escapades with You-Know-Who. But Reader, I decline to follow my heroines down memory lane. No, we are NOT doing the Nostalgia Tour! You will have to imagine this animated reminiscence session FOR YOURSELF!

 

* * * * * * * *

Don’t expect privacy on Gallifrey!

All eyes were on the monitor, scoping Susan’s and Romana’s conversation in the TARDIS, as Lady President Raganza entered with regal presence. 

“We’ve done what you said, ma’am. Plucked them out of time and space some time after their travels with the Doctor, but not too long after.”

“That’s right: we want a little magic of the Doctor to still be clinging to them.”

“Do we believe in magic now, ma’am?”

The Lady President harrumphed. 

“What are you going to offer them, Lady President?”

“Why should I offer them anything? They’re both meddlers, criminals!”

“Still, gotta offer them something – eh, ma’am?”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“The noblest Romana of them all, he called me. The old charmer! But I had to break free. I had to have adventures of my own. Anyway, he was threatening me with Gallifrey. And irony of ironies, here we are!”

“Yes; it’s not that grandfather doesn’t care, it’s just that he’s so sure that he’s right that he won’t hear anything else! He wouldn’t accept that I wasn’t a child anymore, that I had opinions too! 

Vworp! Vworp! It sounded as though the TARDIS were joining in the complaining-session. In fact it meant they’d landed. 

“We’ve materialised. Must be Gallifrey.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The TARDIS doors swung open of their own accord to reveal a posse of guards. Lady President Raganza broke though them. 

“Welcome home, Susan, Romana. Your travels are over,” pronounced the burly grand-duchess of the High Council of Time Lords.

“Over? Really?”

“Well, not necessarily over: in fact, it’s entirely up to you. You see, we have a mission for you.”

“A mission? You want us to do your dirty work for you, I suppose; the Celestial Intervention Agency and all that?” said Romana. 

“Oh, this goes way beyond the CIA: we’ve detected interference with the fundamental flow of time itself. A distortion of time, such as to prevent any TARDIS from landing at a certain chronological point. Let this pass and the supremacy of the Time Lords over time itself will be threatened. And the whole matter is somehow linked to the killing of a major industrialist. We can’t stand idly by. Solve the murder, and we find the terrorist responsible for the time distortion.”

“Why should we help?” said Romana with contempt, “What’s some time distortion to us? And what gives you the right to pluck us from our own times and planets?”

“We have every right!” thundered the Lady President. “Your grandfather should never have left you on Earth, Susan! You know the golden rule! No interference in the affairs of other peoples and planets! You meddled! New technologies, put to the service of your and your husband’s relentless egalitarianism! 

“And what about the Daleks?” retorted Susan angrily, “They brought their technology to Earth for evil, I used mine for good!”

“That consideration is entirely irrelevant!” pronounced the Lady President. “And what of you, Romana? You were only permitted to leave here in order to help with the Key to Time! And what do we get? More meddling, this time with the Tharils. If some species gets itself enslaved, that is no concern of a Time Lord.”

“So what are you saying? You’ll keep us prisoner if we don’t run some errand for you? That’s not a tempting offer,” sneered Romana, “Frankly I’d rather stay here and go on strike!”

“Yes, I’m on strike too!” declared Susan.

“Oh come now! Adopt a more co-operative tone and we can make things a whole lot easier for you.”

“Easier? How?”

“Wee-lllll, we could perhaps overlook a little meddling in the interests of the greater good. Maybe even help you with it. Provided we keep things hush-hush”.

“The infinite pliability of Time Lord principles!” smiled Romana.

“Susan, if you help us we would allow you to return to your life on Earth. And we could even help you use a little more Gallifreyan technology applied in a somewhat less botched fashion. And as for you, Romana, we could return you to your Tharils, and lend you the know-how to build some rather less bungled TARDISES in which to rescue them.”

“There’s nothing bungled about my TARDISES!” said Romana with indignation. “They’re a bit cramped, that’s all!”

“Well, we could make them bigger for you – bigger on the inside.”

Susan and Romana looked tempted. They conferred – and agreed to the Lady President’s terms.

“Good!” said the Lady President. “We’re sending you to Spiradon. It’s a quiet planet, not much happens there, except for a Dalek insurgency in the distant future, and presently of course this murder. We will dematerialise you and your TARDIS here and rematerialise you there. Remember, the time distortion prevents time travel to the moment of the murder. You will have to use your guile and cunning instead. The victim’s name is Richter Techroyd and the Spiradon authorities will grant you every assistance. Good luck, Susan and Romana – and be superb!”

The Lady President and her guards faded from view as Susan and Romana vanished.

 

CHAPTER TWO  
RICHTER TECHROYD

They rematerialised so close to the Spiradon policeman’s podgy face that either he was invading their personal space or they was invading his. Officer Lenz hopped back respectfully. Romana’s TARDIS had rematerialised too and promptly assumed the form of a sarcophagus. 

“Ma’ams, welcome to Spiradon, ma’ams. Here is the body, for your perusal, ma’ams!” He gestured awkwardly towards the corpse laid out for their inspection.

Susan noticed to her surprise that she was holding a gadget in her hands. From where had that come? She realised it was a forensic analysis unit. 

Susan Foreman had not always screamed at rats: at the Academy she used to dissect them, along with Ice Warriors and Sontarans. Away from grandfather’s protective gaze, that earlier Susan was reasserting herself. No need for scalpels here though: Susan merely had to move her unit effortlessly over the body.

It was a very fine body, apart from being dead. Handsome, in a rather upper class way, caramel-brown hair, clean-shaven, regular features, muscular, gym-fit. A fine figure of a man. 

“He was poisoned with hydrocaustic millonium,” she announced, “ingested with finest brandy.”

They don’t hang about on Spiradon. The funeral took place as soon as Susan had established cause of death. The double doors of the room swung open to reveal the Archbishop of Spiradon in full purple splendour. By the time Susan and Romana glanced back towards the body it had been placed in a coffin by the funeral attendants beamed in from the planet Necros.

Pall-bearers walked the coffin to an elaborate chapel filled with mourners. Susan, Romana and Lenz followed the cortège and found seats reserved for them towards the front.

In the front row stood a blond man with a sweet face with pleasant features. He wore the padded beige jerkin traditional of his species.

“That’s the husband,” said Officer Lenz, “widower, rather.”

Next to him was a youth who looked like Richter Techroyd’s double, only with blond hair.

“And that’s the son,” whispered Lenz.

In the next row stood a distinguished-looking black woman; a robot-like creature and a orange being were next to her.

“That’s the chairman and members of the Board of Techroyd Intergalactic.”

Susan’s eyes lighted on an awkward looking couple in the row behind.

“Who’s that woman with the black hair, and the man next to her?”

“Bella Belarus. Jewish Spiradonian. Awful Leftie. Bloke next to her is Cordo Urratich, another Leftie. He’s got form. Revolutionary on Pluto. They’re the union leadership at Techroyd’s.”

The Archbishop delivered his eulogy. Praise upon praise! Tribute after tribute! No end to the compliments lavished on beloved Richter!

“The greatest captain of industry our planet has ever seen…” 

“Solicitous of our people, a stickler for right-minded orthodox politics…” 

“A kindly employer, generous to a fault with his workforce…” 

Bella and Cordo could hardly contain their laughter at the claim of Richter’s open-handedness, but the bereaved husband gave them an injured look and they strained to maintain straight faces.

After the funeral Lenz drove Susan and Romana by space car to the headquarters of Techroyd Intergalactic to hear the reading of Richter’s will. He ushered them into the Boardroom. Transported by faster vehicles, Richter’s husband, son and Board of Directors were already there, sitting round an imposing table.

The reading of Richter Techroyd’s will was performed by his solicitor, a creature from the planet Raz-Judicata. Old beyond measure, the solicitor was a pulsating pink blob with great folds of skin and unappealing red pustules. It slid effortlessly over the carpet and hopped onto the chair, a pince-nez on its eyestick. Pernickety, precise, pedantic, the Raz-Judicatan read out the last testament of the murdered man. 

“Mnk, grnk, The following will, duly signed, dated and witnessed, was deposited with our firm some months ago: ‘I, Richter Techroyd, being of sound mind, bequeath my worldly assets as follows: a third to my beloved husband, a third to my dear son and a third divided equally between the members of my loyal Board of Directors. But should any beneficiary die within twenty-one days of my death then their allocation will be redistributed to the other beneficiaries in proportion to their shares.”

“A three-week window for murder!” whispered Romana anxiously.

 

CHAPTER THREE  
THE HUSBAND WHO HANGED AROUND

Antodus Techroyd was the husband of Richter Techroyd. Richter had rescued him when Antodus was at the end of his rope in a cave on the planet Skaro. The magnate had spotted Antodus earlier from his spacecraft and had had the hots for him, so not wishing to string him along and rather than let things slip, Richter had beamed the startled Thal aboard and told him to ‘get a grip’.

Susan and Romana entered an unusual personal gym consisting mainly of ropes descending from the ceiling. Antodus was reclining on a sofa in the middle of the room.

“We’re very sorry for your loss”, said Romana, “And we’ll do our utmost to find out who did this.”

“Thank you” said the Thal.

At this point Susan made sense of her déjà vu.

“Haven’t I met you?” she smiled, “The war between the Thals and the Daleks!”

“Oh yes,” said Antodus uncertainly, “the war…I don’t talk about that.”

The ladies smiled sympathetically.

(Hang on, thought Susan: didn’t Ian and Barbara say he’d died? Best not mention!)

“Oh yes, we’ve both been to Skaro in our time. In fact I once saved Skaro from being blown up!” said Romana

“Blow up Skaro?” exclaimed Susan, “anyone who did that would have to be a raving psychopath!” 

The Thal warmed to these pro-Skaro sentiments. 

“You were on good terms with your husband?” quizzed Romana.

“The best! I owed my life to Richter!”

“Never a cross word then?”

“Well, erm, we didn’t agree about Skaro.”

“Skaro?”

“I’d wanted to build a holiday home there”, explained Antodus, “in the desert between the dead forest and the old Dalek city. He refused. It wasn’t the money: mansions were two a penny for him. Richter thought – he knew – that I’d want us to settle down there. And Richter had his business interests all over the place, liked to have his own way. I tolerate the jet-setting, but being the trophy boyfriend wasn’t me. I’d rather be on my home planet, with kith and kin.”

“And where were you at the time of the murder?” asked Susan

“I’m not a suspect, am I? I was at a milkshake morning for the Antodus Foundation, my charity for preventing starvation on Skaro by reviving its agriculture.”

Cue Antodus waxing lyrical! Skaro - the land of milk and honey! Skaro – the horn of plenty! He warbled on about some newfangled fruit trees from Kembel which actually fed on radiation! Susan, nowadays animated by agriculture, entered fully.

* * * * * * * *

(“Hey, Romana!”)

(“Susan, what are you doing inside my head?”)

(“Telepathy! Been longing to do it again ever since the Sensorites!”)

(“Do you think he’s our murderer?”)

(“Thals are peaceful. But peaceniks can get warlike. Being denied Skaro might send him into a rage. But how come the time distortion? Beyond Antodus’ technology.”)

(“Unless he had an accomplice…”)

* * * * * * * *

Susan had managed to maintain this telepathic discourse whilst holding her own in horticultural banter with Antodus. 

But something odd was happening to the floor in an arc around Antodus’ sofa. It seemed to be dissolving! It was as if the atoms making up the floor were dispersing, vibrating, separating. The room below was becoming clearly visible!

“Antodus, the floor!” screamed Romana.

Quick as a flash, Antodus grabbed ropes and winched himself to safety as the sofa crashed into the room below. He started to advance gibbon-like towards the safety of the periphery of the room where the floor remained solid.

There must be something round here that’s causing this, thought Susan. A local device. She found a metal box near the door. Grabbing a tiny screwdriver from her pocket she opened it as Antodus continued his primate-style progress. Suddenly the dissolving process reversed: the floor returned to its solid form.

“I reversed the polarity,” said Susan.

“Brilliant, Susan!” said Romana, “And you were brilliant too, Antodus! Wherever did you learn those ropes?”

“Richter said it would help me face my fears. See – he’s rescued me again - from the grave!”

CHAPTER FOUR  
A MICROCHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK

Richter’s son Torik was something of a vanity project. 

“I’m genetically modified,” the young man bragged, “three-fifths Richter, one-fifth Antodus and one-fifth cyborg!” It was a reflection of Richter’s high opinion of himself that he had appropriated the lion’s share of the gene-splice. As a result Torik was quite the doppelganger of Richter, albeit with the Thal blond hair of his other daddy, blondness being a strong Thal gene.

The designer baby was now a strapping young man. But Romana was not satisfied with the account of his creation.

“For most humanoids one needs an egg as well as sperm” she said in annoyance.

“Oh, Dad didn’t mention.” replied Torik, uncurious at his immaculate conception. If a woman had played a role in Torik’s creation she had been written out of family history and genealogy alike, and the young man was not interested.

“I love my daddies. I loved Richter and I love Antodus. Why murder my own father?’ entreated Torik. “Besides – was it in my interests? I could have earned my spurs helping Dad with the firm. Then he’d have left me the whole shebang – not just a third.” Try as he might, Torik could not conceal a tinge of bitterness.

“And what about your other father?” quizzed Romana.

“Oh Ant’s all right. Bit obsessed, of course. Endless peace-and-parsnip gatherings in aid of that planet!” He feigned a yawn. “Dad and I used to rag him awfully! As if there’s any profit to be made out of that radioactive lump of rock of his!” 

“Your dads got on all right?” asked Susan.

“Well, yes, you don’t seriously think Ant would have murdered Dad? I’d like to think my dads wouldn’t have fallen out but you never know. Dad was bossy, and Ant was batshit about Skaro. S’pose Ant might have taken leave of his senses, there’s only so long one can put up with bossy people, do you think he snapped?” 

“What about the Board of Directors?”

“Not to be trusted. Dad was very fond of them, insisted they’d been loyal through thick and thin, but I don’t trust the robot one let alone the orange one.”

“And what do you think of those two trade union leaders?”

“A political assassination? Could have been. Bella Belarus is evil. Cordo is under her thumb. They’re socialist types: all public ownership and ‘up the workers’. Don’t appreciate that what’s good for Techroyd Intergalactic is good for Spiradon, is good for them!”

Having cast suspicion wide the young man then asked the following:

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” said Torik, “You’re supposed to be Time Ladies, right? That’s what the police said. Well, why don’t you just travel back in time and see who did the murder!”

“Because there’s a time distortion”, explained Susan. “Our ship could never land.”

“And who told you this?”

“The Time Lords.”

“And you believed them?” said Torik letting his mouth drop open in mock astonishment. 

“Well, let’s test it, then! We can take you there and see if we materialise. But beware, if we do land – it will be upsetting,” warned Romana. 

“It would be worth it if we find the murderer” said Torik with an air of self-sacrifice.

She extracted a small gadget from her pocket and started to fiddle with it. The TARDIS was still in the room in which Susan had performed the post mortem, but over short distances it could be summoned.

Vroowp! Vroowp! By remote control the TARDIS wheezingly materialised and assumed the form of a metallic stationery cupboard. Romana opened the door and they entered.

“Wow!” exclaimed Torik as he looked around the vast console room. “Awesome!”

Romana sighed. It was always a bugbear having irritating teenagers in the TARDIS.

Torik walked round, admiring everything. For every item he mused aloud whether it could be commercially replicated. He reeled off the business opportunities, marvelling at how handsome a profit could be made.

“Time Lord ships aren’t for sale!” said Susan indignantly and pulled the dematerialisation lever so violently – Vrooowp! Vwooorp! – that Torik tumbled and teetered as the unruly TARDIS entered the time vortex with a massive jolt.

“Wah-hey!” laughed Romana, clinging to the console, as Torik fell on his neat behind.

“Ow!” declared the youth, “is take-off always this rough?”

 

* * * * * * * *

“Read off the coordinates if you’d be so kind, Susan,” asked Romana.

Susan did so.

“Right, just a few touches on the tiller.” Fine-tuning the time travel, Romana flicked an assortment of buttons and levers on the console. 

“We’re nearing the very hour when your father was killed…”

Suddenly the TARDIS went BESERK! Shrill sirens blared. Klaxons hooted. Every light in the ship started flashing like mad, plunging the time travellers into alternating seconds of light and dark. The cloister bell started its doleful chime – a sign that a TARDIS is facing imminent doom.

Distracted by the TARDIS’s distress, it took some moments to notice that Torik was having a fit! The youth was spasming on the TARDIS floor in a most alarming and uncontrollable fashion. Foaming at the mouth he murmured:

“My chest unit – take out the microchip!”

Romana dived towards him. Thankfully Torik was wearing an open-necked shirt unbuttoned to display an impressive torso. Romana had already spotted a small rectangle of steel flashing on his chest. She pushed it further into Torik’s chest, felt a click, and was able to extract it. Torik’s fit immediately subsided.

“Thank God!” gasped the youth. 

Meanwhile Susan had taken command of the console and the TARDIS was returning to normal.

“The ship seems to have ejected us from the time distortion of its own accord,” she said.

“Who can blame it!” said Romana. “Still, this vindicates the Time Lords. There really is a time distortion!”

“What happened to me?” asked a groggy Torik as he staggered to his feet.

“I don’t know for sure, but I imagine the time distortion caused a metacrisis in your cyborg components.”

“Really? Looks more like sabotage to me! You’re sure no-one’s trying to kill me?” replied Torik.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE  
MONSTERS OF THE BOARD

 

“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!” quoted Susan.

Having returned in the TARDIS and consigned a shaken Torik to a chaise lounge for a rest, the two Time Ladies were striding towards their next interview – to meet the members of the Board.

“But is Torik a thankless child?” quizzed Romana, “Did he really murder one father and try to kill the other? We can’t condemn him just for being unpleasant! Maybe he’s telling the truth; perhaps he’s fond of both his fathers.” 

Susan shrugged.

“And was that attack he suffered in the TARDIS just a ploy to throw us off the scent?” mused Susan “He is rather an obnoxious child.”

“Have you never wanted children, Susan?” asked Romana.

“They might end up like Torik!” giggled Susan, “Parents and children don’t always get on. I was lucky with grandfather. Anyway, haven’t the time! Plus, David’s an Earth-boy. Time Lord-human hybrids aren’t a good idea: their minds can’t take it.”

“Phwar!” dismissed Romana, “That’s nothing to the perils of Time Lord-Tharil hybrids! You try giving birth to a lion! Idea gives me kittens! And you fancy winding a baby for time-winds? No: bad enough saving them without breeding with them!” Susan laughed.

“Anyway, I’ve got a baby which keeps me up at night. It’s called Great Britain!” said Susan.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

You can’t accuse the capitalists of Spiradon of lacking racial diversity! The trio who greeted Susan and Romana in the Board Room were a black woman, a huge silvery robot and an orange being with fierce navy blue hair.

“I am Draxana,” declared the elegant black woman, who was Chair of the Board. “This is Varg, Head of Human and Inhuman Resources” gesturing to the silver creature, “and this is Marshall Nir, she’s our Head of Expansion Strategy” extending a hand towards to the orange entity. “We have a meeting of the Board shortly. You are welcome to interview us, but quickly. Time’s money.”

“Very well, Madam Chairman, if we may start with Marshall Nir,” said Romana as she and Susan took seats opposite the three corporate executives. 

“May we ask your species and planet of origin, if that’s not a rude question,” asked Susan.

Marshall Nir was tall and slim: she had a tangerine orange skin, bright red eyes and a shock of dark blue hair. She was encased in a leathery uniform of deep teal. Her pink teeth were permanently gritted together and she could only speak to humanoids through an electronic communicator worn round her neck.

“Certainly: I am from the planet Vlasn. We Vlasniks are a warrior race. I cater for the military needs of the corporation.” The tinny tones of the communicator hardly fitted the colourful splendour of the warrior.

“Military needs?” quizzed Susan.

“Lucrative invasions! Vlasniks believe it noble to wage war – but only in pursuit of wealth!”

You’ve got to hand it to the Vlasniks! Most species, our own included, tend to play down the profit motives behind their warring endeavours. Nir’s race by contrast only views war as morally acceptable if it makes them a pile of dosh.

“And where were you at the time of the murder?”

“In a meeting with my esteemed colleagues here. We are each other’s alibis.”

“Perfectly true!” affirmed Draxana. “We were at the end of a long meeting of the Foreign Interventions Sub-Committee. Dear Richter died whilst we were embroiling ourselves in protracted argument.”

“That is quite correct,” confirmed Varg.

Varg was a huge creature of silver metal and plastic. Romana had seen pictures of Cybermen in the TARDIS memory banks during her time with the Doctor, but Varg lacked the trademark head-handlebars of the Cyberman race.

“As for myself,” volunteered Varg, “I am a Cyberentrepreneur. We split from the Cybermen shortly after the Cyberconversion on Mondas.”

“How fascinating!” said Romana, her eyes widening in a plea for more information.

“We follow the Mondasian thinker Gunter von Lowik. Lowik held that to be truly free the Cybermen must embrace markets. The Cyberman majority sought a strong state and a hive mind: those of us who craved individualism had to flee in a space shuttle of our own.”

“Intriguing!” said Romana.

Susan glanced nervously from face to face before piping up:

“I don’t like to say it, but your alibis aren’t alibis at all! Richter’s brandy could have been poisoned days ago. The same goes for the attempt on Antodus. The matter manipulator which dissolved his floor was a booby-trap. It could have been set at any time.”

“You’ve heard of the dissolving floor no doubt?” asked Romana.

“Indeed,” replied Draxana. “And were very shocked by it. Antodus is a respected colleague who now owns a third of the company. Look elsewhere for the assassin: business rivals, revolutionaries, his enemies on his home planet…”

Speak of the devil! At that moment who should walk in but Antodus, no longer in Thal attire but sporting a greenish double-breasted suit with a yellow tie and handkerchief which matched his blond locks. A refreshed Torik, also suited, in mauve and navy, followed behind his father. They took their seats.

“I must now ask our Time Lord investigators to withdraw,” pronounced Draxana, “Our Board of Directors has now convened and its proceedings are confidential.”

“Oh!” said Romana, “Mayn’t we be allowed to stay? Just this once? Knowing how the company works might be the most useful thing in our investigation!”

“Yes, let them stay!” said Antodus. Torik nodded in agreement with his dad.

“Well, Antodus and Torik now represent two-thirds of the votes, so stay they will!” said Draxana. “Main business is to resolve company policy on the planet Aristorius. We have the report of our Foreign Interventions Sub-Committee: rich seams of terranium throughout the planet. Conversely the indigenous species shows every sign of putting up a stiff resistance.”

“We will crush them!” said Marshall Nir.

“If need be, we could annihilate all life on the planet then claim its resources. However, it would be better to keep the inhabitants alive – as a workforce,” counselled Varg, mindful of his personnel brief. 

“You mustn’t enslave people, let alone massacre them! It’s wrong, callous, evil!” cried Antodus. 

“Setting moral considerations aside,” reasoned Draxana, “I too have doubts. This is all too incautious, a speculative venture. Richter would never have approved this escapade without a full political risk analysis. An invasion might have all manner of repercussions with regard to the company’s relations with other planets!”

“One must show daring in war!” Nir retorted. 

“Well, Torik: everyone has expressed an opinion,” said Draxana, “And yours is the casting vote. Do you side with your father?”

“I actually, erm, don’t.” said Torik. “I know you come from a pacifist species, Ant, but my other Dad taught me to be a business buccaneer, a daredevil scouring the galaxy for rich pickings! I agree with Nir. Risk assessments go to blazes!” said Torik with an air of derring-do. 

(“My hero!” whispered Romana to Susan.)

“Then the decision’s taken!” said Draxana abruptly, “The company forces will invade Aristorius! Meeting adjourned!”

“That is very gratifying!” intoned Nir.

But Nir’s voice was breaking up. Something appeared to be happening to her voice communicator. Steam was rising from it, and it seemed to be melting!

“Quick! It could be acid!” cried Susan. Romana swung into action. She carefully removed the communicator from Nir’s neck as it bubbled and smoked menacingly. Romana threw the communicator into the corner of the room where it spluttered and started to lose its form, turning into a bubbling, shapeless mass.

Nir hissed through her clenched teeth. She could no longer make herself known. 

“Let me try telepathy,” said Susan, closing her eyes and placing her hands just above Nir’s head.

“Yes, yes,” said Susan, “Nir says this was an attempt to murder her. She asks that someone go to her quarters, there’s a spare communicator in the bottom drawer in her study.”

Draxana arranged for an attendant to run over and collect it. 

“Another cowardly attempt on the life of a member of our Board!” she declared, “The police must be informed forthwith!”

Except for Draxana and Nir, the members filed out. As Susan and Romana left the room, Antodus tried catching them up. There was a metal detector at the door: it set off an alarm. 

“Oh Ant, you’ve set it off as usual. My dad’s always doing this!” said Torik with mock exasperation. 

“That boy annoys me, treating his father as a yokel!” whispered Susan to Romana as they walked on. “I’ve met the Thals, they’re sophisticated. Some ‘honouring thy father’ wouldn’t go amiss!”

“That looked like acid to me. Vile stuff,” said Romana.

“I once went to an island surrounded by a sea of acid,” chatted Susan, “We did think about that for Britain, but David was scared it would harm the fish.”

Romana chortled.

“My money’s on the son” said Susan. “He is so mercenary.”

“If you ask me, Antodus isn’t all he seems” said Romana, “That goody-two-shoes act is over the top...”

Talking away, Susan and Romana hardly noticed that they were leaving the building. As Susan and Romana made their way outside, they noticed a large crowd of people. 

 

CHAPTER SIX  
WORKERS OF THE WORLDS UNITE

Join a gathering of Spiradonian workers AT YOUR PERIL! A more hot-headed, extreme, foul-odoured, crazed, obese, envious, resentful, bonkers, revolutionary, demagogic, unwashed, loopy horde of reprobates you’ll never meet! Nonetheless it is to their credit that our fearless daughters of Gallifrey chose to immerse themselves within this rabble.

On the platform the tiny figure of Bella Belarus, sporting a long brown dress and a hat bedecked with flowers, delivered a barnstorming speech.

“The ruling class refuses to control trade!” stormed Bella with fiery passion. “I say the State must impose import controls, in the interests of our class! Enough importing plants spewing toxic fungi! Do we want Spiradon to end up some nasty piece of space garbage?”

Rapturous applause!

“And now we hear there’s to be a new war. Mass slaughter - with business thriving in the ruins! We must unite with the workers of Aristorius to overthrow capitalist class rule!” lambasted the firebrand, “Yet of course, the so-called ‘moderates’ in our Union urge us to keep quiet. Would they have us disappear? The workers of Spiradon must always be visible!”

Thunderous clapping!

After her peroration, as the crowds drifted off, Cordo emerged onto the stage. He wore jolly harlequin colours yet he looked nervous. Susan and Romana approached the platform.

“Cordo, be a mensch and unhook me,” said Bella, raising her arms to be freed from her microphone. Cordo obliged. 

“Ah,” said Bella noticing them, “the Time Ladies we saw at the funeral! Have you found the murderer yet?”

Susan and Romana introduced themselves.

“This is Cordo, he’s from Pluto. Had some trouble with a Company there. Now he helps us, helps me. I’m Bella Belarus, union General Secretary.”

“Have you any idea who may have committed the murder?” asked Romana.

“It wasn’t us!” cried Cordo.

“Why should we murder Richter?” pointed out Bella. “The replacements are worse! They’ve just voted for war! Antodus is a sweetie, I grant: the rest, odious!”

“Yes, we’re anti-war: we’ve a company plan of our own,” explained Cordo nervously, “it’s all about committing to stuff back here. For instance we’ve got this ice volcano. It’s phenomenal! We could easily use it to be self sufficient in energy.”

“We’re the positive ones. If you want to find murderers, think of that evil-minded will, and who benefits from it!” chipped in Bella.

“But what happens if one of the directors is convicted of murdering other directors?” asked Susan.

“Not thought of that! Perhaps the State would take over! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” said Bella. “I hope that doesn’t make you suspect us.”

“Besides,” said Cordo, “we’ve not been in the building until today. It’s all a question of time, isn’t it? He was murdered long before we were allowed inside.”

“Yes…” pondered Susan, “…all a question of time….long before…long after…”

“What’s time got to do with it?” asked Romana.

Susan turned abruptly round to Romana. 

‘But don’t you see?’ said Susan.

Then Susan pointed something out to Romana, and Romana did see – and the mystery, it was solved.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN  
SUSAN AND ROMANA EXPLAIN

It is a truth acknowledged throughout time and space that murder suspects must arrange themselves in a neat semi-circle to hear the sleuths hold forth. Accordingly Draxana, Varg, Nir, Antodus, Torik, Bella and Cordo were seated around the Board Room table, awaiting the elucidation of Susan and Romana. Officer Lenz stood by the door.

Susan’s glance darted anxiously from side to side. Romana smiled encouragingly. 

“Time is relative,” said Susan, “That’s what Romana and I had drummed into us at the Academy on our home planet. We perceive time as linear, but it isn’t. It’s a structure relative to ourselves. The murderer took advantage of time to weave a complex web which baffled us…until now.”

“I was once asked by my schoolteacher to solve a problem using only three dimensions. I told him you can’t do it without the fourth dimension, time. Solving this murder was the same. It depended entirely on the fourth dimension.”

“Of course, there was no shortage of suspects,” intervened Romana, “Richter Techroyd had generated all manner of motives among those around him.”

“Could it have been Antodus?” Romana speculated, “The loving husband – or was he? The peace-loving Thals don’t always live up to their billing. Had he married from gratitude, repented at leisure? Desperate for his home planet, had he wished to break free of his domineering spouse - and seen murder as the only way out?”

Antodus gave Romana a hurt expression.

“Or perhaps it was Varg,” continued Romana, “one of a Cyberman offshoot dedicated to business. Killing Richter Techroyd would’ve improved his wealth. Maybe, having been processed on Mondas, that’s all that mattered to him. Have you no emotions, sir? 

Blank look from Varg.

“Nir raised our suspicions too. The warlike one. She could have easily engineered the acid attack on her communicator herself.”

Nir hissed.

“And then there was Draxana,” said Romana, “A case of thwarted ambition perhaps? Might she harbour aspirations to be the company’s CEO? Had she been shunted sideways - when she really wanted to call the shots?”

Look of exasperated contempt from Draxana.

“And finally there was Bella and Cordo. They claimed that Richter Techroyd’s successors were worse than he was. But was it all a conspiracy to get the State takeover of the company which they crave?”

Bella and Cordo glanced at each other, bemused. 

Susan resumed the narrative.

“Yet we kept coming back to the same suspect. In the end it wasn’t difficult to piece together what happened, but we were misled by our own linear perception of time. We assumed the murderer had killed Richter Techroyd before we’d arrived.”

“Yes”, intervened Romana, “We’d overlooked that we’d come with a time machine. And only one of you has been inside it – Torik Techroyd.”

“Torik Techroyd had strong motives,” continued Susan, “He inherited a third of his father’s assets. His father’s death removed the obstacle to an invasion of Aristorius which he was sure would be immensely lucrative. Later on he made another attempt at patricide, by trying to kill Antodus, a murder which would have netted him the lion’s share of the company. Thankfully he reckoned without our intervention – and his other father’s gymnastic prowess.

“But returning to the murder of Richter Techroyd, the sequence of events went like this,” explained Susan, “We gave Torik a journey in the TARDIS to confirm the existence of the time distortion. In fact he’d prompted the ride in order to double-check it. It proved effective even though he had not yet created it. Not in terms of his own personal timeline, anyway.

“Traumatised by his ‘fit’ – or so we thought - we helped him to a chaise longue to rest. We little realised he’d pinched the TARDIS key from Romana. He was an adept pickpocket: one must admire his sleight of hand.

“Once we were out the way, Torik leapt into action. This was a premediated crime and no doubt he had acquired the poison, the hydrocaustic millonium, earlier. He grabbed it, returned to the TARDIS and flew it back in time, past the time distortion. He is partly cyborg and would have recorded photographically how Romana piloted the ship. His computer components would have helped him make the necessary calculations. Arriving in the past he poisoned his father’s brandy; there was no need to be present at the death.

“But the Time Lord intervention meant he had to cover his tracks. He did not want Romana and me to uncover his guilt by travelling back in time. He therefore set out to create the time distortion. This must have required a great deal of study and immense energy from the TARDIS itself. But tucked away in the ship he had unlimited time, remember; and all the intellectual resources of a Mark 40 TARDIS at his disposal. 

“The time distortion was created, and he projected it back into the past. It echoed back in time. That’s why we encountered it on the test-flight with Torik earlier. 

“Torik would’ve needed to get back to the present day, but that was no problem. The TARDIS would have automatically ejected itself from the time distortion, then he’d only have needed to press the TARDIS return button. And that was how the murder was done.”

Clap-clap-clap from Torik.

“Very clever, Mrs Time-Ladies-clever-clogs,” sneered Torik, “A very imaginative solution. Most entertaining! There’s just one thing you lack: a single molecule of proof!”

“That’s where you’re wrong!” replied Romana. “Having excelled at what was complicated, you blundered at what was simple. You only needed to return the TARDIS key to my pocket. 

“When we left the Board meeting, something set off the metal alarm. You blamed your father. But Antodus had nothing on him which would trigger it. We checked. You were trying to conceal the truth with a clumsy deception. 

Romana took her TARDIS key from her pocket and held it up.

“It was this which set off the alarm as we left the meeting, but it hadn’t done so on the way in, because it wasn’t in my pocket at the time. You brought it in, doubtless having wrapped it in something to protect it from being detected. And you popped it back in my pocket at an opportune moment.”

“Oh, and your hair’s grown since an hour ago,” added Susan.

Torik put his hand confusedly to his yellow locks.

Officer Lenz lumbered from the back of the room.

“Torik Techroyd, I arrest you for the murder of Richter Techroyd and the attempted murder of Antodus Techroyd, contrary to the thirteenth statute of Spiradon. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned….”

Lenz’s breathless tones were drowned out by a booming, disembodied, female voice.

“Torik Techroyd, you have distorted the flow of time. You shall henceforth be in the custody of the Time Lords...”

Torik looked aghast as the molecules of his body started to dematerialise.

Vwroorp! Vwroorp!

“Son!” cried Antodus.

Torik had disappeared! Lenz looked astonished. 

“Well really,” said Romana, “how arrogant is that!” 

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

“You realise the irony of all of this?” said Romana.

“Time Lord interference caused the time distortion,” said Susan “If they hadn’t sent us with the TARDIS it wouldn’t have happened.”

“That’s a lesson for them: don’t meddle. Right, Susan, let’s off and home. We’ve meddling to do!”

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

With a third of the company’s assets automatically confiscated by the State, the government of Spiradon swiftly planetised the remaining assets of Techroyd Intergalactic, making Bella managing director and Cordo her deputy. War plans were promptly abandoned: the corporation was now to be pressed to the service of the nation. 

“And Antodus accepted Spiradon’s compensation readily, even though it was measly,” recounted Bella. “Wants to devote himself to building racial harmony on Skaro, bless him! He’s unearthed some Kaled called Hock and they’re doing a sponsored rock climb up Mount Nyder as part of Skaro Peace Week. He’s delighted, thought Kaleds were extinct!”

Bella smilingly held up her e-phone to show a picture of a beaming Antodus with his arm around the shoulder of a sinewy black-haired Kaled. Hock looked a nice chap.

“If the Thals and Kaleds had been as matey as that, we’d have never had had the Daleks!” observed Romana wryly.

“Well,” said Bella, “Antodus says he does want to rope a Dalek into the project, if he can find a friendly one.”

“Matey, rock-climbing Daleks! Good luck to him!” laughed Susan. 

“Listen, Bella, Cordo: this world is yours: the new heaven and the new Spiradon” said Romana, “I plead only that it be merciful, and democratic.”

“Oh we’ll be terribly democratic,” said Cordo, “and merciful too: we shan’t be throwing management off the skyscrapers. Not after last time.”

Susan raised her eyebrows.

“The mind boggles!” she said. “Still, we must be off, we have other fish to fry.”

“Fish?” exclaimed Bella, “You won’t stay for our gefilte fish party? I’m doing the boiled and the fried! Well, we had to fall back on some haddock that was part-fish, part-Rutan – needs must - but the taste is almost as good! And we must celebrate!”

“We’re very tempted” smiled Romana, “but we really have so much to do, Susan’s got her island to run and I have my species to rescue!” and waving a fond goodbye the two Time Ladies entered the TARDIS and it wheezingly dematerialised into the time vortex.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT  
EPILOGUE

 

“They’ll be alright and the Time Lords should be satisfied” said Romana. “Soon be back to Earth for you - and then E-space and the Tharils beckon for me!” 

Romana nipped smartly round the console, pressing levers here, pushing buttons there.

“You’re reminding me of grandfather,” smiled Susan.

“Except I’m the better navigator,” said Romana.

“It’s not that grandfather couldn’t fly the ship, it’s just that he didn’t know where we were going.”

“Well, that’s all right then!” said Romana. “Hey Susan, this has been pretty good, eh, solving this murder together?”

“I think we did well,” agreed Susan perkily. 

“Perhaps we should do it more often.”

“What, solve murders? Well why not! It’s been a nice break from rebuilding Britain!”

“And I’ve enjoyed a change from the slog with the Tharils. After all, we can multi-task can’t we?”

“We certainly can, and why not!” laughed Susan, “Susan and Romana – intergalactic sleuths, sniffing out the perpetrators of grisly killings throughout space-time!” 

So, before parting company, they composed their advertisement and placed it on the Worlds-Wide-Web and the Tinternet (the Time Internet).

And that is how Susan and Romana embarked on their new mission, in addition to all their other missions: to solve MURDERS IN TIME AND SPACE!

 

TO

BE

CONTINUED


End file.
